


Conscription

by tryptophan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Gen, Internal Monologue, Other MCU characters play background roles, Steve Rogers - Background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryptophan/pseuds/tryptophan
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a soldier and a fighter, but he's never spoiling for a fight (unlike other centenarians he might know).A glimpse of Bucky's reflections on his skills and his past.





	Conscription

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight. And it definitely wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ fight. It’s just that, despite his moniker and his impressive CV, Bucky Barnes didn’t go _looking_ for fights (unlike certain punks with outsized senses of justice).

Sure, he’d enlisted after Pearl Harbor. But it wasn’t because of truth, justice, and apple pie. There was a little of that, a little of the duty and righteousness that animated Steve, but it was largely the notion that his life wasn’t really going anywhere in Brooklyn, and the Army couldn’t be much of a step down.

He’d proved himself a capable soldier. He didn’t pursue promotions or look for fights, but when it was what was required, he fulfilled his duties to the best of his abilities.

Then the scrawny punk from Brooklyn showed up looking like a Charles Atlas ad, and no, it wasn’t just a hallucination brought about by Zola’s latest torture drugs. Steve’s body finally matched his heart, and when he asked him to be his right-hand man, he didn’t say no. He was Steve’s Sergeant, and he was good at it.

He didn’t follow Steve blindly. If he thought an idea was shit, he’d call him on it. They’d hash out the plan, modify it, but it was ultimately Steve’s call, and once Steve’d made his decision, Bucky followed his orders. Even if it meant zip-lining onto moving train.

He didn’t lie to Stark; he really did remember all of it, but it was still in bits and pieces, like looking at a jigsaw puzzle that was half assembled. What he did remember was feeling a sense of purpose and accomplishment when he wore the Hydra octopus (fucking Nazis couldn’t even get their symbolism right), or the Red Star.

Then the punk with the outsized sense of justice let him beat the shit out of him while on a crashing flaming warship. Flashes of memories started clicking together, and he realized that he didn’t have to keep fighting, that the man in front of him didn’t have to be his mission.

And so, he quit. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s weapon anymore. To ensure they would never again do that to him or anyone else, he used all the training and skills governments and science and paramilitaries had put on him and turned them back at his former masters. He knew where the road was going to end, or was supposed to end, which was destroying the Weapon they’d created, since someone really should.

But then came Zemo with his grudge against Stark, and Bucky became a weapon again. He wasn’t spoiling for a fight at the airport, but Steve said they were going to, so he did, and he did it well.

Then it was just about protecting Steve, which was one of the easiest instincts for him to fall back on. Red metal robot, bad. Steve, good. Stark wanted contrition and penance from him, and Bucky _was_ contrite, but that wasn’t enough.

When he woke up again, he was offered a new arm. He thanked the girl, but declined. “Only if you really need me to fight,” was his reply. “I’ll make do with what I have left until then.”

He heard rumblings of internecine power struggles in Wakanda, and half expected Shuri or Okoye or T’Challa himself to show up with an arm, but the request never came, and then it was over and peace was restored.

When he saw them approaching with the case, he knew it was time. He’d given his word, and he’d keep it; if his skills were needed, he’d fight.

And so he did. It felt—not good, not even natural, but comfortable. Steve wearing black was a shock the first time he’d seen it, but Steve had also visited a handful of times, even staying in Bucky’s hut once, so Bucky had had time to acclimate to the idea of Steve no longer being Captain America.

He could fall back on old conditioning and muscle memory, and his mind was still sharp enough to analyze the battle and respond in milliseconds. There was a talking raccoon, and that it barely warranted a double-take spoke to how insane his life had gotten.

In the end, he was a soldier. He never sought out violence, but when violence was required, he was capable of carrying it out, and he was good at it. Then the fighting was over, and it seemed like the good guys had won, or at least not lost, which wasn’t the same as winning. He felt weird; not the usual post-battle adrenaline crash, nor the feeling of the cold of stasis taking over. It was like going to sleep while being fully conscious. He couldn’t control his body. He couldn’t _feel_ his body. He was heading over to Steve to check in and figure out what the hell had happened as he realized something was very wrong. He called out for Steve just as the blackness engulfed him.


End file.
